Take Down

FIFTY-ONE

In Billy’s opinion, Vegas hotels served the best food around. Take the late-morning room-service breakfast he was eating in his suite. A mouth-watering frittata made from organic cage-free eggs, grilled chicken, roasted tomatoes, and a slice of sourdough toast on the side. Growing up, he’d never dreamed a meal could taste this good.

His Droid beeped. Travis had sent him a text. The counterfeit gold chips were done and had passed muster. The last cheat to take down Vegas with fake chips had been another Providence native, Lou “The Coin” Colavecchio, and that was over twenty years ago. Billy sent Travis a reply and told him to bring the crew to the hotel for a meeting, then resumed eating his breakfast.

Ike and T-Bird sat across from him, battling their hangovers with coffee.

“What are you smiling about?” Ike asked.

“That was my guy. The fake chips are ready,” he said.

“You still haven’t told us how this scam’s going to work,” Ike said, holding his mug with both hands. “It would be nice to know, considering we’re a part of it.”

“Yeah, let’s hear the details,” T-Bird chimed in.

The time for secrecy was over. Clearing the table, he took a pair of salt and pepper shakers and placed them on the table’s edge. On the left side of the table, he placed a sugar bowl; on the right side, the purple zinnia in a small vase that had come with his meal.

“This table represents the casino, and these salt and pepper shakers are you guys,” he said. “The sugar bowl is the blackjack pit. The flower is the cage. With me so far?”

“Which one of us is the salt?” T-Bird wanted to know.

“Shut the fuck up,” Ike said.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. At three forty-five, the Gypsy wedding will take place inside the chapel. The ceremony will last fifteen minutes. When it’s over, the Gypsies will walk down the hall through the lobby and enter the casino.” He walked two fingers across the table, stopping at the sugar bowl. “Upon reaching the blackjack pit, they’ll stop to have their picture taken. This distraction will allow them to perform a little act called the Dazzle. The Dazzle is designed to fool security into not seeing that a member of the wedding party is gone.”

“One of them’s going to disappear?” Ike asked.

“It will seem that way. The invisible member will remove a dealing shoe hidden inside the bride’s gown and switch it for a shoe on a high-limit table. At that moment, I’ll alert security, and they’ll pounce and expose the scam. That’s when you rob the cage.”

“How we going to do that?” T-Bird asked.

He pushed the salt and pepper shakers toward the single flower. “At four o’clock, Ike will call the cage and tell the cage manager that Rock is ready to cash out. A few minutes later, you guys will appear. T-Bird will have two lovely ladies with him who work for me. He’ll pass the fake chips to the cage manager and get the money orders in return. You’ll leave through the hotel’s back exit with my crew. We’ll chop up the money later.”

“But I don’t look nothing like Rock,” T-Bird protested. “The cage manager’s gonna notice and sound the alarm.”

“No, he won’t. According to a blackjack dealer named Jazzy I spoke with, the Saturday employees are starting their workweek. Since this is Rock’s first visit to the hotel, it’s a lock the Saturday employees have never seen him. They don’t know who Rock is.”

“So how’s the cage manager going to know?” T-Bird asked.

“He’ll have to take Ike’s word for it,” Billy said.

“So I gotta be convincing when I call the cage,” Ike said.

“That’s right. You have to sell the cage manager that T-Bird is Rock.”

“I can do that,” Ike said.

T-Bird didn’t look comfortable with the explanation.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll have my girls put you in disguise,” he said. “They can shave your head and tie a pillow around your belly. By the time they’re done with you, you’ll pass as Rock’s twin brother.”

The bird man mulled it over. “Well, all right. Sure hate losing my dreads.”

“So grow them back. One more thing. Two members of my crew will be stationed by the cage. If an employee happens by, they’ll turn him. Any questions?”

“I’m good,” T-Bird said.

“What about the Gypsies?” Ike said.

“What about them?”

“You know how Doucette is about cheaters. You gonna let him kill them?”

“Why do you care what happens to the Gypsies?”

“I don’t care. I just wondered if you were gonna let him.”

He’d been avoiding the question for days, believing that when the time came, he’d come up with a clever way to save the Gypsies from getting their brains bashed in. The time was now, and he balled up his napkin and tossed it onto his plate.

“Let me think about it,” he said, and went outside to the balcony.

He hung on the railing, racking his brains. How was he going to stop the Gypsies from getting hurt without getting himself hurt in the process? No good solution came to mind.

The Strip was jumping: tourists, peddlers, hookers, and plenty of nut jobs. He was looking at one right now, standing in the crosswalk of Sahara wearing bright blue underwear and a Superman cape with a screaming gold S stitched crookedly on the back. Nutso flapped his arms, as if preparing for liftoff. Traffic ground to a halt. Horns blared.

A swarm of uniformed cops appeared in the crosswalk. The cops pinned the would-be Man of Steel’s skinny arms behind his back, slapped on the cuffs, did a thorough frisk, and led their man to a cruiser parked by the curb, where they shoved him into the back. The cruiser sped away with ruby-sapphire lights flashing, the crown jewels of trouble.

As busts went, it was as pretty as a ballet. Vegas had one of the largest forces of street cops in the world, over two thousand strong. The largest concentration was deployed around the convention center and the Strip, where the tourists were. Using bike patrols, motorcycle units, and cruisers, they did a good job of keeping things safe. Dozens of cops were right outside Galaxy’s front doors every day. Just a simple call to 911 and they’d appear.

That was it. He’d call the cops and tell the operator a psycho was inside Galaxy’s casino, shooting up the place. The cops would appear and save the Gypsies from getting hurt. If the Gypsies handled themselves right, they might even be able to sue Galaxy for damages.

It was all good, but it wasn’t good enough. By ratting out the Gypsies, he was breaking the code never to hurt another cheat. That required making things right with them. Perhaps he’d hear about a casino with a flawed security system and pass the information to them. Or, he’d let them know where Ricky was buried so they could retrieve the body and give the kid a proper send-off. Whatever he did, it needed to be significant enough to erase the harm he’d caused. He went back inside. Ike and T-Bird were still sucking down coffee.

“That was fast,” Ike said.

“Compared to you, anything’s fast,” T-Bird said.

“Shut up,” Ike said.

The sound of the door being unlocked snapped their heads. Even to a casual observer, the unusual layout on the table would arouse suspicion and lead to questions Billy did not wish to answer. With a sweep of his arm, he sent the salt and pepper shakers, sugar bowl, and flower vase to the floor, where he swept them under the couch with his foot. Evidence gone.

Shaz entered wearing a white pantsuit and a string of white pearls. To keep the color theme correct, her eyes were dilating, and she appeared to be riding the white pony.

“Reverend Rock requests the presence of your company,” she said, making it sound like a death sentence. “Get moving.”